Better Than Ice Cream
by Tara the Duchess of Nil
Summary: For the Downton Charity Drive on tumblr for therealtonydanza's prompt, "something with food". Thomas is miserable. He hates the beach but Jimmy has an idea to change his mind.


It was hot.

Too hot, according to Thomas as he pulled off his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. He hated the sand clinging to him and the stickiness of dried saltwater made him itch but he loathed the sea itself with a passion. To him, it was just a churning mass of grey, green and blue. The place where men disappeared, swallowed up by its depths.

He hadn't always felt this way; in fact, when he was a child, he had loved the odd trip to the seaside when his father had had an especially profitable month at his clock shop. But the sinking of the Titanic had hit Thomas deeply, and for weeks afterwards, cried alone at night thinking of those lost souls, including Mr. Patrick, who had been a decent sort of fellow. The kind of fellow he wouldn't have minded working for.

Thomas desperately wanted to slide his hand out of his sweltering leather glove but didn't want to risk the ridiculousness of the younger servants gaping at his hand; it was already a subject of legend amongst them, with the hall boys telling the maids that Mr. Barrow's glove wasn't covering a war wound—it was actually hiding his third eye. They had bet each other money they didn't have to see who would be brave enough to try and slip it off when he was asleep to find out if the story was true but Thomas' icy stare while awake was enough to scare them off.

Thomas had managed to muscle one of the lesser maids out of the way to claim a beach chair and had dragged it into the shade of one of the cabanas. (God forbid, though, if a SERVANT dared to actually enter one; for good measure, Thomas had kicked some sand in the gap between the tent and the beach, hoping to annoy anyone inside.)

He had flopped down onto the chair, hating every second. It was even hot in the shade. Mrs. Patmore had bought a box of toffee and offered it to him. Thomas had looked at the toffee and then up at her without saying a word. She had sighed and said, "Go on then, take some. It's not going to bite you for heaven's sake."

Now, Thomas bit into a piece, snapping it in two angrily, hoping that it wouldn't ruin his near perfect teeth, but at least the sweetness had taken his mind off of the heat for a bit.

It was an extremely rare occurrence that Mr. Carson had let the staff do anything so, goddamn it—he was going to enjoy it. And by suffering in silence by staying on the beach, he could watch Jimmy up close, playing football in the sand with the hall boys.

Jimmy had stripped down to his undershirt, much to the chagrin of Mr. Carson, who immediately thought to reprimand the footman but it was so damn hot and Mrs. Hughes was providing such a lovely distraction that he didn't have the heart to chastise him.

Thomas quietly grunted as he took in the sight of Jimmy—how the undershirt hugged every well-defined muscle in his chest and belly and back. The sleeves were even tight on his arms, giving the illusion that he was much bigger than he actually was.

Jimmy promptly dispatched the hall boys with a particularly nasty kick and looked over to see Thomas staring at him. A sly smiled crossed the footman's face as he sauntered his way over to Thomas, who immediately sat up straight in his chair and tried to hide the delight in his eyes.

Jimmy stood over him, the sun shining from behind, making him glow and look even more like the sun god Thomas liked to think he was.

"What's the matter, Mr. Barrow? You've got a face like a wet weekend."

"Ah, James. It's a bit hot for my liking."

"Hmmmm. I see. Well, I may have just the thing."

Jimmy crouched down next to Thomas, careful not to get to close to him and said softly, "Wait 15 minutes, and meet me under there." He motioned with his head toward the shadowy underside of the promenade. "If anyone asks where you're going, say it's to the loo because the heat is making you nauseous. No one's going to bother you if they think you're going to vomit all over them."

"Very clever you are," Thomas said as Jimmy rose and made his way to the promenade. Thomas watched him go, his perfect arse looking ready to burst from his trousers. Thomas shifted in his chair and found that he was beginning to get hard. He quietly scolded his cock for being so sensitive and tried to tuck it between his thighs, willing it to grow soft.

The minutes ticked by agonizingly slow, and when the time was ready, Thomas jumped up out of the chair, unintentionally knocking it backwards onto the sand.

Mrs. Hughes turned away from the sandcastle she and Mr. Carson were making together, her face harboring a look of casual concern.

"Everything alright?" she asked.

'Yes, well. It's just the heat. I'm feeling rather poorly," Thomas said weakly but didn't bother to wait for a response; he turned and practically ran toward where Jimmy was hopefully hiding. Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson exchanged glances and shrugged, then went back to their work.

Thomas reached the promenade and stepped into the shade, momentarily blinded by the darkness. Jimmy saw him standing helplessly from behind one of the many pillars, then singsonged, "Oh, Mr. Barroooow … over heeeeerrrre."

Thomas followed his voice and was greeted with the glorious, golden sight of a shirtless Jimmy holding a gigantic vanilla ice cream cone. Thomas let out a low groan in his throat, which he tried to swallow and hoped that Jimmy didn't hear but he was mistaken.

Jimmy laughed and made a slow circle around him, waving the dripping cone at him, "I've got something special for you. Think it will help you forget about the heat for a bit," he teased, then stuck the cone under Thomas' nose.

Thomas tried to keep a straight face and kept staring into Jimmy's eyes as they then turned together, almost as if ready to duel.

"Thank you Mr. Kent, but I think I can buy me own ice cream," Thomas said dismissively, the words reminding both men of the tension that had preceded their tender new relationship.

Jimmy huffed in response, "You cheeky sod!" and swiped the cone across Thomas' mouth and left cheek like a sticky white smear of lipstick, then danced away admiring his handiwork.

"Get back here," Thomas snapped as he began licking his lips while trying not to laugh. (He had a reputation to uphold, even with Jimmy.) "Clean up the mess you've made."

Jimmy stepped up and murmured, "Mmmmm … gladly." He then began slowly licking and kissing Thomas' sharp, sticky cheekbone and then made a trail toward his lips. Jimmy alternately kissed and bit them while Thomas groaned softly. It then took little effort for Jimmy to pry open Thomas' mouth with his tongue. Thomas grabbed Jimmy around the waist and pulled him closer as their kiss grew deeper and deeper.

Thomas ran his hands up Jimmy's sides, luxuriating in the smooth flesh underneath his fingers, then looked down at the rapidly disappearing ice cream cone that was still miraculously in Jimmy's grip.

Thomas took a step backwards and grabbed Jimmy's right arm, bending it upwards and pressed the cone against the footman's chest.

Jimmy looked down in horror and gasped, "Christ, Thomas! Ahhhh fuck that's FREEZING. Ahhhhh, Ohhhhhh."

Thomas raised an eyebrow and held the cone over Jimmy's right nipple and then slid it over to the left, leaving them both stone cold and incredibly hard. He chuckled at the footman's discomfort, took the cone from his hand and then breathed into his ear, "Lie down for me."

Jimmy happily obliged and Thomas straddled his hips, pleased to discover that Jimmy already had an erection.

Thomas held the melting cone over Jimmy's chest and let it drip down between his nipples and over his nipples down to his belly. "Hold this," Thomas said quickly and shoved the remnants of the cone into Jimmy's hand. He looked down at the white trail over his lover's body and sighed, "Jesus, Jimmy. I've always wanted to do this to you."

Thomas slowly licked his way across Jimmy's chest, stopping to suck and bite each nipple while Jimmy writhed beneath him, his free hand alternately clutching at Thomas' neck and dark hair.

"Ahhh, Thomas! Oh god, that feels brilliant," Jimmy moaned. "Uh, I love you. I love you so much."

Thomas lapped at the tiny puddle of ice cream that had pooled in Jimmy's belly button; Thomas swore later that he had never tasted anything so sweet before. Jimmy arched his back in response and cried out, then Thomas kissed his way down to Jimmy's trousers and unbuttoned them quickly and slid them and Jimmy's underwear to his thighs.

"Oh god, are you?" Jimmy asked bewildered, and Thomas chose not to answer him as he looked Jimmy squarely in the eye and scooped out a handful of ice cream and held it over Jimmy's erection.

"Ahhhh, fuck. You are aren't you?" Jimmy said in a voice edged with panic. "Thomas … noooooooo."

But it was too late. Thomas lathered up Jimmy's cock with the melted ice cream then took him fully into his mouth. Jimmy screamed from the cold for a second but was quickly silenced by Thomas' hot and wet mouth sucking and swallowing him.

Jimmy's eyes rolled back into his head as he surrendered to his lover's ministrations. He began breathing heavily and completely forgot that he was holding the rest of the ice cream and absently lifted his hand and smashed the mess onto his hairless chest.

Thomas glanced up, popped Jimmy out of his mouth, then thought for a second. Fuck the sand, he said to himself. He stood up quickly and awkwardly kicked off his trousers and underpants, then bent down and smeared the spilled ice cream all over Jimmy's cock one more.

Jimmy watched helplessly and then winced in pain. He was then treated to the sight and the sensation of Thomas easing himself onto his cock, with the rich ice cream acting as a makeshift lubricant.

"Oh god. You're doing it. You're doing it." Jimmy wailed. "Unffff. Mmmmmmm."

Thomas bent over Jimmy gingerly, then dragged a finger through the ice cream and smeared it gently on Jimmy's lips, then kissed and licked it off, and then kissed him again.

"You know, you taste better than ice cream," he whispered into Jimmy's lips. "Better than anyone, better than anything."

All Jimmy could do was sigh, and place his sticky hands on Thomas' hips.

Thomas began to rock slowly, "Having to wait for you makes this all so much sweeter," he said, looking down at Jimmy as he traced his jawline with one finger.

"I'm … I'm sorry," Jimmy stuttered, an expression of genuine sorrow clouding his face and threatening to sour the moment.

Thomas shook his head and replied, "It's much sweeter this way. Christ, it's SO much sweeter." He lifted himself off of Jimmy's cock slightly, then slammed back down with a groan.

Jimmy grabbed a handful of melted ice cream and spread it on Thomas' erection, then pressed and rubbed it against his belly as Thomas rolled his hips and began riding Jimmy faster.

For the next few minutes, the only sounds were of footsteps overhead, the faint crashing of the ocean onto the beach, a piano tune floating on the breeze and the primal sounds of two men in love making love.

Thomas came first. He was sticky and sweating and sandy but didn't care as his seed spilled all over Jimmy, mixing with the sad remnants of the ice cream. All Jimmy really needed to send him over the edge was to bear witness to the pleasure on Thomas' face, his eyes squeezed shut, his lips mouthing a secret blessing. And the way he tilted his head back, exposing his pale throat. Something about that made Jimmy melt faster than the ice cream and he came inside Thomas, saying "I love you. I love you. I love you." over and over again. And he meant it.

Thomas slipped off of Jimmy and collapsed beside him, then groaned, "Ughhhh I feel so … disgusting. The sand. I HATE IT." He paused and smiled, adding, "But it was worth it."

Jimmy rolled over onto his side, propped his head up on one elbow and said brightly, "Well, there's the sea. Plenty of water to bathe in."

"You first," Thomas mumbled as Jimmy bent down to kiss him, then said, "I love you Jimmy."

"Of course you do," Jimmy replied. "Who wouldn't?"

Thomas just sighed happily.


End file.
